


Aria

by helloshepard



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Canon Related, Eventual Happy Ending, Multi, POV Second Person, Pre-Poly, otp: as you will
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:38:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helloshepard/pseuds/helloshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You are always cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bend

You are always cold.

The ship's heating systems have never been fixed. On the list of problems wrong with the Ebon Hawk, the temperature is near the bottom.

So they set up a ring in the cargo hold: no sabers, no Force. Only hands grappling furiously against skin and armor, sweat a warm contrast against the chilly air.

It's you and Atton, first.

He's warmer than you expected, and he's forgotten none of his training. The rush of excitement flows through your body, even as he pins you against the cold floor.

You smile, and as you roll out of the hold it feels genuine.

It occurs to you that this is the most physical contact you've had with anyone in years. Atton pins you again and Visas shifts her position, crossing her legs.

You kick out of the hold and flip Atton onto his back. He gasps for breath and you do not lean forward until his breathing has calmed, and you are struck with the urge to lean over and kiss the man until neither of you can breathe.

“I win.” is all you say, instead.

And then because you cannot help yourself, and because you are no longer a Jedi, you kiss his forehead.

Neither you nor Visas can un-hear the surprised gasp he makes as your lips touch his forehead, as your hands brush the strands of hair away from his eyes.

* * *

Once, your saber was forged from the finest metals in the galaxy. Crystals found in Dantooine's kinrath caves were the foundation of its very being, a bright light in the void of space.

Now you have a blade made from scavenged parts and a crystal stolen from a career criminal.

Your 'students' fare no better.

The Mandalorians offer you their warehouse, though if it is out of respect or pragmatism you aren't sure. Bao-dur declines (and you cannot blame him), but you are certain that the lightsabers he and Mira are building will be indestructible and entirely waterproof.

Of course, Atton refuses any help when his lightsaber shorts out. He labors at the bench until it is fixed, as you quietly hope he won't unintentionally blow anything up.

You offer to return the power cell you took from Visas. She refuses, quietly and eventually she finds the parts to make another.

They cannot be picky about colors. Once a color held great meaning, but the only thing that matters now is if the blade is aimed at _you._

* * *

 

You learn from Visas.

You know how hard you tried to forget the feel of a lightsaber in your hands, and you realize how successful you truly were.

Kreia berates you and Visas equally. Though you understand the imminent threat of _Sith_ looming over the galaxy, if you do not defend your friends, there is no point in defending the beggars in the street.

Visas is startled, and you recall her past, and wonder if you are doing more harm than good.

Then you go back to sparring, and Visas wins quickly with her blade an inch from your throat and your back against the wall.

From this angle you can see the scars her robes cannot fully cover. You recognize them immediately as burns, and the anger that churns in your gut is far from the Jedi you are not pretending to be.

You ask.

Visas promises to tell you later, and as Korriban's winds sweep over you both, she does.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Visas kisses you, she bows.

Mical tells you her arm is broken. Using the Force to heal is possible, but that requires precision. Precision is something you have not had in years, something none of them have yet. So he binds her arm with cloth and warns her to take it easy (she refuses to stay in the medical wing for the night).

You accompany Visas back to her quarters. You know she is in pain. For all she will not— _cannot—_ express it, human- drugs do not work on Miraluka as long as they should. You wonder if Dantooine has supplies for near-humans, and realize that you will find some, even if it requires going back to Nar Shaddaa and wrestling them out of the Exchange.

Her hands shake as she struggles to remove her outer robe.

It's thicker than you imagine; black and heavy in your hands as you reach behind her neck to undo the clasps. As gently as you can manage, you tug it off—it was Visas's dominant arm that was shattered, and you are determined to see she will not fight until she is healed.

The dried blood and torn fabric beneath should not surprise you. Yet it does. You run your own scarred hand across her uninjured shoulder and she winces, then leans into your touch.

You feel the Force pulling at you, feel the weight of Kreia's disapproval from half a ship away. Feel Atton questioning the sensations being shared over their bond—besides Kreia, that is the strongest, this is a close second.

Visas pulls away, falls to her knees. As her knees hit the ground you feel the abrupt jolt of pain as if it were your own.

So you kneel, return your hand to her shoulder.

She pulls it away, holds it in her lap for a second, before pressing her lips to your palm.

It's a feeling you haven't felt in years: emptiness and anxiety and tenderness and frustration all at once.

You pull your hand away. She immediately apologizes as your mind races, trying to understand the consequences of what you are considering—what you want to do so badly your chest aches.

So you throw the consequences into the wind—after all, chances are you will both be dead in a day, or a month, or a week—and you press your lips against hers.

Though your eyes are closed, for a second you see yourself as Visas must see you, all shades of blue and gray—you are gray, and the ship is blue.

That's strange, you wonder to yourself, and you do not wander down that line of thought any longer because Visas Marr is pulling your closer, and your heart is doing things you don't understand.

 

It is a month later when the explosion knocks you unconscious.

You are certain it was no more than a minute, but when you open your eyes, Visas and Atton are staring down at you, looking more worried than you've ever seen them.

You manage a quiet joke, a weak laugh, but your head hurts more than you think it should.

They seem to know, and belatedly you remember the bond that ties them to you and you despise it, wishing you could slice it apart with your lightsaber as you do the HK units that follow you across innumerable star systems.

Your vision blurs, and though you try to listen to their pleas (demands, in Atton's case) until the blackness consumes your mind.

Then you can hear them talking above you. Their words are unintelligible but you cannot ignore the tone: frustrated, afraid, and a little bit of envy creeping into Atton's voice as he starts to yell.

Visas responds and eventually their words turn quiet. Hands rest on your forehead, temporarily alleviating the pain, and other hands hold your own.

Then your body is lifted and your head rests on Visas's lap—through the pain you recognize the fabric as it brushes against your neck and cheeks.

Atton is still talking, faster than he normally does, and his grip on your hands tightens as his voice cracks at the end of his sentence.

You reach out blindly with the Force, brushing against their minds and you pull back more quickly than you thought possible because their pain is _exposed._ Atton's is jagged—patched and scarred and it reopens a little whenever he loses himself in battle or sees Kreia on the ship. Visas's is made of deadly precision—you realize her master knew exactly what he was doing when he took her.

Red tints your half-closed eyes and Atton squeezes your hands. Then two hands touch your forehead and you feel Visas urging sleep upon you and Atton trying to help.

Eventually, you wake up with a throbbing head and what feels like a cracked skull. Mical is busy pushing sedatives back into your system and he has enough time to tell you running into a burning building was a bad idea.

You can't help but agree.

 

Slowly, life settles into something resembling a routine.

Mical determines Visas's arm has healed entirely, and you go back to sparring with her. She's slowed down considerably, so you suggest Atton spar instead.

His lightsaber breaks after ten minutes, and you give him your own.

Visas seems entirely oblivious to his flirting. You've given up telling him to give it up—the only one he _doesn't_ flirt with is Mira, who sent him more than a few images of crudely drawn rockets with his name scrawled under a stick figure.

Atton is getting better—mentally, you rank him below Bao-dur and slightly above Mira. Mical is always an outlier, an unknown, but instinctively you want to put him near the top. Kreia, were she willing, you think could best the entire crew, and that thought sends chills down your back when you can't sleep at night.

You shake the feeling off as Atton manages to parry a quick blow intended to knock the blade out of his hands.

Atton grins, and you can feel a glimmer of confidence emerge from the self-loathing that engulfs the man, so afterwards, you ask him to teach you the Echani training he knows so well.

After it's clear you're hopeless at learning something more refined than a street brawl, he ends up teaching both you and Visas.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Malachor is a scream of emptiness that has called to you for a decade.

But first there is its ancient warship that looms over Citadel Station, its master whose presence leaves Visas's hands trembling.

You leave Atton behind. He protests, but the thought of Atton being dragged onto that ship is more than you can bear—and you can hear Malachor call to you still. And though he pretends otherwise, the fight with Atris's Handmaidens has left him injured.

So you hug him until he steps back, and then he jokes about a goodbye kiss.

You tell him he'll get his kiss after the galaxy is saved.

Mandalore moves throughout the _Ebon Hawk_ with the same familiarity as T3. You wonder if he will open up after this mission, after this final relic is destroyed. His confident steps echo throughout empty halls, and you wonder what truly happened between Canderous Ordo and Revan.

You try to ignore the blood staining the walls and floor, successfully ignore the first two times Visas refuses to enter a room.

Against all your instincts, you do not follow Visas when she goes into her room.

Mandalore is silent, leaving you alone with Malachor's call echoing beyond the sounds of battle overhead.

* * *

When you find him, your scream deafens Malachor's.

It is anger that fuels your battle against Sion. Unbridled anger that does not dissipate until the husk lies in pieces at your feet and you can fall to your knees.

If Sion is anger, then you have truly become Nihilus: you hungered for his death, and did not stop even as the heat from the Core and sweat from the battle drenched your robes and hair.

You kiss him, throwing his broken lightsaber out of sight. You cry, letting your head drop to his shoulder, and you can hear the faintest sounds of life within his chest.

And then you hear him make the worst joke in the galaxy, but you kiss him anyway.

* * *

You do not go, and that is your final act of defiance.

You tell yourself you will follow Revan after Atton is healed. In the meantime, you come to terms with Bao-dur's face joining the hundreds you see before drifting off to a restless sleep wedged between Atton and Visas. You both give Atton space. He jokes about being the third wheel as Visas leans against your back, draping her arm over your waist and you rest your head on his shoulder.

Atton sleeps better than you and Visas, but you all credit it to the complicated regimen of painkillers and sedatives Mical has prescribed.

Visas is the quietest sleeper. You do not know what Nihilus did to force her silence, but the hair-triggers from a decade of conflict wakes you when she cries silently. You do not ask.

You do not ask what memory is strong enough to tear Atton out of a drug-induced sleep, and what allows him to pace the floor, clutching bandaged ribs as he tries to calm down.

You do not ask, and they do not ask you.

You tell yourself you will go when everyone else is settled.

T3 and HK go with Mandalore.

Mical and Mira go back to Telos. You remember what Kreia told you about Mira, and you know any warning will fall on deaf ears.

Then Bastila Shan calls you, and you have another reason to delay.

You are still no teacher—after all, your best student still cannot build a functional lightsaber, but Bastila admits you have recruited enough Force users to start the Jedi anew.

Atton's startled refusal shatters a few dishes and has the neighbors pounding on your door.

You cannot blame them, and you cannot blame him.

Visas also declines, but admits she is willing to teach.

She starts by teaching Atton to control the Force, to _not_ accidentally smash a window when he's startled.

You admire her patience.

You say you'll consider it, and you spend the rest of the day doing just that.

It's not until you see Atton begrudgingly apologizing to an irate neighbor and Visas gluing a plate together that it strikes you.

You are no longer cold.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is a pairing that's been tugging at my heart for a good while now, and only now have I found an okay way of writing it. Comments and kudos are always appreciated!


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